Hair Wrap
by Puss
Summary: William Turner, known better to the community of ships, thieves, rascals and whores that was the world of a pirate as Bootstrap Bill, did not sleep like other drunk men did. (Possible JBS, depends on your point of view)


**Hair Wrap**

_By Puss_

PG-One Shot

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, in any shape or form.

William Turner, known better to the community of ships, thieves, rascals and whores that was the world of a pirate as Bootstrap Bill, did not sleep like other drunk men did. Certainly, he was quite comatose, just like all the other inebriated men are when they are asleep; no shout or pistol shot outside could rouse him from his slumber. No, Jack decided, what made his sleep different from the sleep of other drunk men was the fact that he slept quietly. Normally, a man that had consumed as much rum as Bootstrap had that night would be snoring with a vengeance that caused the more sober patrons of the bar look anxiously out the window, searching for the storm clouds that must have made the booming noise. Jack could spot a few of this type of man without turning his head; in particular, a fat scallywag, whom Jack never really liked, who was drooped over a table not far from where he sat, his large maw open like a screaming child's, drool dripping out of it as a wench in red filched his purse.

Jack was quite proud of the fact that he had managed to keep on his feet while his companion did not; it did not matter that the other pirate had started earlier then he had. Bootstrap's first bottle of rum found his stomach before the sun had sunk to the horizon. It was the entire concept of the thing that was important, not the logic. He swirled a bit of rum that was left in the bottom of his mug, before draining it, long tongue flickering out to catch a few errant drops that tried to escape their undeniable fate of swimming through the blood stream of the young pirate captain.

Frowning into the depths of his mug, he felt himself for coins. His pouch came up bare, as did his normal hiding spots for change. He shook a small bag that he found on his belt, grinning roguishly as he heard a small jingle. He pulled open the drawstring with quick, impatient fingers, and reached inside. The cold metal of coin did not meet his fingers; instead they traveled through string and thread to land on curiously shaped beads and baubles. He furrowed his brow, racking his brain for any reason that he had such things on his person.

"...not for bribing...not for whores...no good for rum...kind of pretty; ooo, shiny bauble..." His rum slowed mind patiently put all the little puzzle pieces together. "AAHA!" He crowed triumphantly, causing a few fellow drunks to stare at him. He had collected them for his hair, of course; how could he be so daft?

His fingers searched his head, his gleeful smiled turning to a frown once more as more and more ebony hair was turned over by his hands. No lock of non-matted, non-bead covered hair made itself apparent to him. He slumped down on his arms pitifully, pouting profusely, though there was no one paying him any mind. No gold, no rum, no whores, no hair...  
He looked to Bootstrap, thinking about waking him up, so that he would at least have someone to whine at. The other pirate was still very much unconscious, face buried in his arms, long hair escaping from its poorly done pony tail to spill on the table.

Jack's mind clicked, and he grinned like a child, dark eyes glowing with mischief. He had no rum, no money, no whores, but he had hair.

Bootstrap threatened to cut it off at least once a day. He would be in the middle of a sentence, and suddenly break off into curses about how the damned thread and bead laced hair wrap would not stay in a ponytail as the rest of his hair did, and was always being a nuisance to him. Jack took pride in the fact, however, that no matter how much Bootstrap bitched and complained about the work of art the Jack had so lovingly created in his hair, that he never followed through with his threats. Day after day, week after week, season after season, the hair wrap stayed, falling down the right side of Bootstrap's tanned face, till no one could imagine him without it. Some days, even, Jack saw Bootstrap playing with it, wrapping it around his finger and jingling a few beads together as his mind wandered off on one topic or another.

When he last saw Bootstrap, looking terrified as Jack was pushed of the plank of the Black Pearl, condemned to death on a little island in the middle of no where, the end of the wrap was in his mouth, teeth clenching it in an effort not to try and help Jack, as his heart willed him to; the only thing that held him back, as they both knew, was the condemned pirate's last wish, one that many would call him foolish to waste on another: that Bootstrap should break his bond of loyalty, and not so rashly follow his captain, thus allowing him to escape the fate he now owned.

It was ironic that these memories were the ones to surface as he padded up the stairs of a dinky little inn in Tortuga, swaying slightly as he always did when no rocking boat was under his feet. He frowned as he entered his room, staring at the half shadowed figure that was lounging on his bed.

He called him Will, at first, thinking he was his son. He inquired about his business, (Something along the lines of 'What the blazes are you doing here, boy?') and the lass (he managed her name; he was certain that the young Turner would not respond well to his wife being called what had been on the tip of Jack's tongue) that he must have left behind to come to Tortuga. All that answered him was a soft laugh as the figure's head turned towards him, the baubles in his hair wrap jangling together in a familiar rhythm.


End file.
